


If Wishes Were Fishes

by TheColorBlue



Series: if wishes were horses (beggars would ride) [3]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, Multiplicity/Plurality, celebratory blueberries, probably trauma-based multiplicity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-12
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheColorBlue/pseuds/TheColorBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Here’s my theory,” Tony Stark says, while they’re sitting in the newly renovated tower drinking champagne and eating, for some reason, chocolate-covered strawberries. “I’m pretty sure: Hulk’s a thinking creature"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Banner

“Here’s my theory,” Tony Stark says, while they’re sitting in the newly renovated tower drinking champagne and eating, for some reason, chocolate-covered strawberries. There’s take-out on the way, boxes of pizza from Stark’s favorite pizza place, and Pepper is lying with her legs across Tony’s lap, reading from a tablet, while Tony talks animatedly to Bruce sitting in the other, very comfy chair. The strawberries were in the fridge: fancy ones, with-iced on decorations like jewelry. Bruce sucks on sticky fingers and wonders idly when the pizza will arrive. 

“Yeah?” Bruce asks, and Tony is rubbing a palm absently, fondly against Pepper’s knee. There’s a gentle smile on Pepper’s mouth, and her fingers move across the tablet’s glassy surface. 

“I’m pretty sure: Hulk’s a thinking creature. No—really! Hear me out on this one, I know your working theory is that he’s a manifestation of your inner man-rage or something, but I’ve been watching the videos. In our last fight, aliens from outer space and all of that—you’d think that Hulk would have been stomping through, smashing everything right and left, but he—he really didn’t. Maybe it’s working sympathy for the guy who saved my life, maybe it isn’t, but it’s—it’s pretty amazing.”

When Bruce doesn’t say anything, Tony says, “It’s in the way he moved. Complex movements—as if he had the capability to assess a situation, and where he was, before executing. Or, he’d actually watch the way things move and seemed to project where’d they’d come out in the end—or the way he saved my life. I’m telling you, the Hulk’s patterns of action were not random.”

Bruce pops another strawberry into his mouth. He chews it carefully, swallows, and then says, “It’s okay Tony, you don’t have to try to convince me. I already know you’re a sharp guy, Mr. Stark.”

“That’s Tony Stark, to you,” Tony says, but it’s off-hand, like a gesture he doesn’t really think about. 

“You want to know how much of me is awake with the Hulk,” Bruce says. “And I can tell you right now, the percentage of a conscious me is zero.” 

“Are you meaning to get scientific here, when you say that?” Pepper asks. Her brows are arched slightly, but her words are voiced with real inquisitiveness. Now she’s looking down at her tablet. “ _Consciousness_ ,” she recites, like she’s reading from something. “ _Wakefulness; awareness and ability to express thoughts, perceptions, memories, and feelings_. I’ve pulled up the files you sent, Bruce. Talking about you and the other guy, as you put it. You’ve talked about black-outs, and being clear on the fact that the other guy doesn’t seem to behave at all like you, from what you’ve seen of your own footage.”

“I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have tried to level Harlem if I was in my right mind,” Bruce mutters, sinking a little into his chair. The other guy may have helped to save the world, but that still doesn’t make the experience of an altered state of mind completely okay, in Bruce’s opinion. He digs his toes into the plush carpet. Pepper isn’t the only one who likes to go around barefoot. 

“Mr. Hogan will be coming up shortly, Sir,” announces the English voice from the ceiling.

“Sounds fantastic. Thanks, JARVIS. I hope that’s pizza he’s carrying with him.”

“Indeed, Sir.” 

“Are you hungry?” Pepper asks Bruce. She’s being gentle, in her usual way. She’s being kind.

“As always,” Bruce says. 

Pepper’s smiling at him, but then her attention is being drawn back to her tablet. She’s a busy lady, after all. She’s sharp as a tack, keeping up with Tony’s rambling ways, and then some. Bruce feels strange in a place like this. He feels strange with the warmth and the luxury, and the kindness, and then the pizza being brought in, rich and heavy and tasty. Happy helps himself to one of the three boxes, with Tony’s blessings, and then leaves back through the elevator. Tony pours extra crushed pepper on his slices. So does Bruce. Pepper climbs off the couch to get herself a glass of iced water, and Tony makes mournful noises after her, dramatically. Bruce watches the tableau, and it’s hard not to smile, kind of wistful 

Bruce has tried to be good. He’s tried to be a good guy: offering his medical skills to desperately under-served regions in the world, trying to save lives, or at least to offer what he can to those who need it. He doesn’t have his head in the clouds: he’s seen people die from things that have nothing to do with him. There’s a lot of crazy things out there. But no matter what he does, how much he tries, he can’t bury that feeling in his mind, in his chest. There’s a feeling like something heavy, and hot, and ever-moving. Sometimes it fights more than other days. Sometime it lies tense as a wire. Other days, Bruce could almost forget that it’s there—but that’s really just a form of denial, because it’s always there. To say he’s always angry is just short-hand. What he means is that the other guy is always present, always moving just under the surface. 

Bruce is silent while he chews his pizza, and Tony argues with his English butler in the ceiling about maintenance on the tower. 

Bruce is thinking. Because Tony has got him to thinking, which is often a good thing, a great thing, but right then it wasn’t, maybe, or necessarily. There’s something wrong with Bruce, he already knows that. He’s spent time in ashrams, learning meditation techniques, and even when his mind is completely clear, and his pulse is even, and his breath is slow—he’s not even angry, but he must be, because the other guy is still there, like the ocean crushing the sand on the beach. What still scares Bruce is that there’s no controlling the other guy. There’s just letting go, and hoping for the best, because Bruce isn’t really conscious through the whole ordeal. He’s not really awake. If he was, he’d have been able to—that day with the gun—

“Hey,” Tony says from his sofa. There is a screen in the air with schematics of the Stark tower pulled up, but Tony is looking through it at Bruce. “Don’t go moping on me, Bruce. We’ve still got plenty of pizza.” 

Bruce smiles at Tony. “Not everything can be solved with food, Tony.” 

Tony waves his half-empty champagne glass idly. “And yet.” Then, “Look, all I’m saying is that, if you’re comfortable with the idea, I’d like to make _you_ more comfortable with the whole concept of Hulking out. Because you’ve already said the other guy’s not really going away, so. Why not.”

“I’ll keep your offer in mind,” Bruce says, a little dry. “Thanks.” 

Tony is looking at Bruce, his face thoughtful, but also open, and strangely sincere, but then he’s going back to his schematics, his fingers moving through the air. 

Bruce stands up and takes his plate and glass to the kitchen. 

\---

It’s not that Bruce isn’t grateful that the other guy managed to actually do good, and even to save Tony Stark’s life personally. 

It’s just. Sometimes he wishes…and this is crazy, but sometimes he wishes it had actually been _him_ in that fight. That’d he’d been awake for it. He spent a year in India, and sometimes it was like trying to atone for someone else’s sins, like trying to fill in this hole except you couldn’t see it and sometimes you got the feeling that it wasn’t even yours to fill. 

The whole idea of it is crazy. And the other guy was still there, even in that moment with the pizza and the champagne; Bruce could feel the other guy the way you might become aware of your own breathing; of something that’s always been there, and always will be. 

Bruce is lying in a bed in Stark tower, staring up at the dark ceiling. He’s been living in New York for three months, actually hired to manage non-profit administration of medical services to under-served communities in India, where he’d spent so much of his time. He’s also been collaborating with Tony on clean energy tech developments, although he’s been thinking about going back to India for a few weeks.

He’s too busy, too bright, to have to worry about something this—honestly, it’s absurd, some other guy taking over and capable of destroying entire city blocks without much effort—

Bruce rolls over and presses his face into his pillow. It’s like he’s a kid instead of a grown man, and he’s a grown man goddamnit. 

He’s so bright and yet he wishes—he wishes he knew what it was that he was supposed to do. 

And he doesn’t at all.


	2. Hulk

Hulk has learned that when he wakes up without warning, usually something is trying to hurt him. Usually several somethings, and usually there are loud noises, and bullets, and threats of death or buildings collapsing on top of him. There has been only one time that this isn’t the case, and that’s because he wakes up with a puny gun in his hand and a bullet in his mouth. It’s also the day he learns, _really_ learns, that he can’t even trust stupid Banner to watch their backs. There is no trust and, for some reason, there is a feeling of incredible pain that had nothing to do with physical injury. Hulk is all alone, and he is beginning to wonder if he is better off hating everybody. Well, okay, not everybody. Betty is kind and good. Hulk loves Betty. Hulk doesn’t hate small children either. Or flowers in the desert. Okay, okay, there are a lot of things that Hulk doesn’t hate, and maybe that’s why it hurts so much, in his chest. 

Hulk sits down, spitting the bullet into his hand, and crumpling the gun and the bullet into a tiny ball.

Banner has taken them out somewhere, far away from the cities. 

Hulk is all alone. 

\---

Whenever Hulk wakes up, there is always, always a lot to take in at once. 

Today, there is anticipation, because he can hear Banner’s voice in his head, letting him out, and then he is transitioning from thought to the impact of a fist against a giant, flying monster’s skull. In the next instant, Hulk’s other hand is bracing against the momentum of the creature. He is adjusting his own weight against the earth to bring everything to a full stop. There is a dust everywhere. There are more monsters coming. There are smells like concrete and dirt and alien blood, and the sunlight is sharp against the outlines of skyscrapers, and there are sounds like machines and faraway sirens. Hulk clenches and unclenches his fists as he roars. 

There is a lot to take in. 

When Hulk leaps for the first monster grappling down the side of a building, he knows exactly how hard he needs to push off the ground to just land against the building’s side, instead of going through it. He knows exactly where to aim so that he lands where he wants. he remembers where he’s mapped out the positions of the other creatures so that he is moving fast, pulling them down, smashing them right and left. Banner thinks too much, and Hulk is dismissive of all that chatter in the head. 

Hulk looks at things, and then he knows. 

At some point in the fight, the Iron Man has left Hulk’s field of sight. And when all the creatures collapse at once, Hulk looks around. He sees the other Avengers. He sees everyone except the Iron Man. Hulk looks up, his eyes fixed on the black fissure in the sky. Hulk can see stars, and darkness, and the shadows of ships. Hulk can see a tiny shiny fragment that is resolving into the shape of an Iron Man as it plummets back towards the earth. No one else is moving towards it because they are stupid. 

Hulk doesn’t think about it. He leaps into the sky, and he catches the man encased in iron. 

\---

It’s hard to describe what it’s like to wake up in the world, when so much of the time you’ve been pushed into a kind of dreaming. Hulk doesn’t have the verbal language to talk about it: what it’s like to see the blue sky, or to touch and feel and smell real dirt, real water and trees, when you spend most of your days only half able to imagine it. When so much time is spent only half-awake. 

When Hulk wakes up in the world, after a long time of being under, it’s a bright feeling. It’s sharp, and almost too much. It’s like opening your eyes after sitting in the dark for months and months and months, and it’s finding that the light is actually painful when it hits your eyes. 

And then, of course, that’s if you can manage to get through the initial shouting and bullets and smoke and fire and rage, rage, rage…

Hulk tries to shake it off, but sometimes it’s like the world is crazy, so of course you smash back. 

What it’s like—

It’s like being born again, and it hurts. 

\---

The next time Hulk wakes up, of course it’s because Banner has pulled him out for a fight. 

Hulk had been smashing evil robots that tried to break into the Iron Man’s workshop. It was a good fight, and when it’s over, Hulk is breathing in a heavy way, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The good robot, that one like a big metal arm, had been hiding behind Hulk, and now it’s marking whirring noises at Hulk. The voice in the ceiling is muttering something about “Sirs never having a dull day.”

The Iron Man has waded through the wreckage to the Hulk, his visor up. He looks around, and sighs, and then “Well, there’s always worse, I guess.” He looks over at Hulk. 

Hulk looks back. Well, glares back. He knows Iron Man wants puny Banner now, and he can’t help but resent that. 

But the Iron Man doesn’t ask for puny Banner right away. He’s sort of looking at Hulk thoughtfully, and then he goes over to a broken desk and rummages around in the drawer that managed to survive the melee. 

He pulls out a small package, and Hulk can smell fruit. 

Hulk looks at the Iron Man in confusion. 

Hulk can count on his fingers the times he’s been able, been allowed to taste real food. 

The Iron Man holds out his hand, and for once this is not an invitation to a battle. 

“Hey, Big Guy. Celebratory blueberry?”


	3. Stark

Contrary to popular opinion, Tony Stark does acknowledge that there are aspects of the universe that he doesn’t understand—and even if he thinks he understands them, there’s always the possibility that a few years down the line—or a few decades, if you would allow for him living that long—someone or something might just prove him wrong. Yeah, yeah, huge surprise. Tony’s mind runs a mile per minute, but there are certain things that ground him (certain people called Pepper) and he might have discovered a new element, and this beautiful source of clean energy called the arc reactor, and built himself an iron man suit from a box of scraps—Tony Stark is pretty great, he’s allowed to preen once in a while right? But he doesn’t know everything. 

JARVIS, actually, is one of those entities—entity, not thing, the concept graduated from unconscious to conscious a few years ago at some point, probably—JARVIS is one of those entities that, actually, Tony doesn’t completely understand. They have their own mutual and personal language, JARVIS has Tony’s back one hundred percent in more ways than most people, even Pepper, even Tony, probably appreciate—but artificial intelligence? Look, people, peeps, citizens of the world—even so-called natural intelligence is this crazy, lovely, complicated thing that scientists still haven’t even scratched at the surface of understanding, and if Tony had gone the regular route, JARVIS would still just be a glorified robot butler that talks from the ceiling and may occasionally scare you in the shower if Tony is feeling particularly vindictive and childish. 

Tony did not personally program every layer of a person, personality, whatever, of that entity called JARVIS. He designed a program that would loosely imitate the electrical signals in the brain—and then he left it alone for a few years. The original intent had been to design a simulating model that would allow for the study of the central nervous system, particularly in projecting the probable outcomes of stimulating certain areas of the brain. It had been a potential research project to be done in conjunction with the Harvard medical school, but at some point Tony had shelved his work and moved on to other engineering projects. He hadn’t thought the darn thing would eventually get away from him, and develop a consciousness of its own. He’s not sure how it happened. He doesn’t actually know, in minute detail, exactly how JARVIS works. 

The entire business of it is a secret between him and JARVIS. Tony does have, you know, a sense of ethics—dabbling in artificial intelligence is like dabbling in making babies. Tony is not in the business of making people, essentially, for selfish reasons, because that would be kind of shitty of him. He’d sort of frowned at JARVIS when it became apparent that JARVIS had infected a couple of the other bots with some degree or other of consciousness or something, DUM-E being one of those very awkward examples—but those had apparently been accidents. They were very careful these days. Tony and JARVIS have had talks, and making babies is a serious business. 

\---

Is it really any wonder that Tony starts to watch Hulk? And start to feel something in the blackened remains of his heart (the same traitorous whatevers that made him do things like offer to fly Coulson to Portland to save his love life, or offer Bruce Banner a place to stay at Stark Tower)…

Tony has read all Bruce’s research on the so-called “other guy.” It’s spotty stuff. There’s a lot of the gamma radiation work, of course, very meticulously done, and also work on human physiology and cellular biology. On the other hand, it’s a lot, lot harder to do studies of a self-experienced state of consciousness that you’re not even awake for, and of which the best you can do is pull together news footage of a rampaging rage-monster, and try to come to your own best conclusions. Bruce calls Hulk the other guy, because he might as well be another guy trampling through the city, but even Bruce doesn’t know what he’s dealing with, and he’s been living with the jolly green giant for years now. 

Tony looks at Hulk, and sometimes he thinks about JARVIS. He thinks about the mysteries of the universe, and those things you look at and aren’t sure you understand at all, and the wonder of life and all that jazz. 

He offers Hulk blueberries, because that seems to be the right, the _kind_ thing to do. Weird emotions seem to chase themselves across Hulk’s face, and Tony really thinks of JARVIS: of voices from the ceiling whispering in confusion about evolving and discovering such new and frightening things about themselves. 

Tony empties the whole package of dried blueberries into Hulk’s massive palm, and he watches as Hulk tips the entire thing into his mouth. 

If Hulk could talk the way Bruce did, Tony wondered what Hulk would say, all the thoughts and feelings moving through this guy’s mind. Tony is a weirdly, secretly sentimental guy, so he’s read an article or two over the years about the self-awareness of dolphins, the mourning behavior of elephants. Tony knows the limitations of verbal language—heck, everyday there are people who can’t speak his language, that’s why he’s so thrilled with Pepper, and now thrilled with Bruce—so when he looks at Hulk there’s the frustration of not quite knowing what to do or say. 

Tony watches DUM-E absently, as the screwball bot goes around trying to extinguish piles of rubble in the workshop. 

He wonders if Hulk would enjoy a whole crate of blueberries. 

Aw, to heck with it. He’ll buy the crate of fruit anyway. Or they can get blueberry pies from that fancy bakery Pepper’s so fond of—really blow Hulk’s mind then. 

( _Yes, blueberries come in dried, fresh, and baked pastry forms. Knock yourself out, Big Guy_ ).


	4. Coda

Bruce Banner was a graduate from John Hopkins School of Medicine’s MD/PhD program, specializing in nuclear medicine, and specifically the effects of gamma radiation on the human body. He never did complete a residency, choosing instead to join Betty Ross on a military-funded research team to develop a method of protecting humans from the effect of gamma radiation. He’d always focused on the research aspect of things, but after the Hulk—well, while in hiding, it had been nice to have his clinical skills to fall back on. Focusing on patient care had given him calm and a sense of direction. Even without an abundance of resources at his disposal, at least now he had a framework for his life, and he did the best that he could with what he had on hand. 

Nowadays, there was a free, Stark-funded clinic in Calcutta, and even with all the research opportunities he had in the states, some days he still itched to get back to India, to return to that work. Stark had offered the services of his private jet, and Bruce was planning to go back in a few days. He’d be out in India for the next three weeks. 

Bruce and Agent Phil Coulson stood out on the Stark Tower rooftop patio, enjoying the view. Coulson was waiting for Tony to come back from a routine inspection of the pipe systems he had running under the city harbor. 

Tony had, of course, turned over the ne’er-do-wells who had tried to steal tech from his workshop, but there was still that pesky business of a debriefing. Pepper was inside, calling for take-out delivery from a Greek place down the street. She’d invited Coulson to stay for dinner. 

Of course, Coulson hadn’t died during the Chitauri invasion.

Or as Tony had put it: “ _why that lying, one-eyed bastard_.” 

“Captain Rogers and agents Romanov and Barton should be returning tomorrow from Russia,” Coulson said, in that mild, pleasant way of his. “There was some….interesting business regarding an old friend of Rogers’. You might get to meet him before you leave overseas.”

“Huh,” Bruce said. “Well, knowing you people—“

“Yes, knowing us.” There was a pause, and then Coulson coughed, before saying, “I, ah, would also like to offer the courtesy of informing you: you’ll be having a few of our agents keeping an eye on things while you’re in Calcutta. Standard security and protection measures, I hope you understand.”

“Oh, sure. That’s… great,” Bruce said. He didn’t bother to work up any pretense of enthusiasm. But the smile on Coulson’s seemed genuinely sympathetic, so Bruce smiled too, no hard feelings really, and then the two of them were stepping back as Tony came to a landing, hot air gusting up from the Iron Man’s repulsors. 

Tony’s faceplate came up. “Son of a bitch.”

“Pepper invited me for dinner,” Coulson said pleasantly. “There’s also that matter of debriefing you on yesterday’s capture—“

“You people will be the death of me,” Tony grumbled, as the suit came off in shining, metallic pieces. “Have that underlined: _death_.” 

\---

After dinner, and after Tony’s forcible completion of SHIELD paperwork and related niceties, Coulson and Pepper wandered over to the bar to “giggle over girl talk and their lives, I don’t really know,” as Tony put it, and Tony threw himself onto the couch and pulled up schematics of the tower’s power systems to fiddle over. He didn’t seem overly invested in getting work done though, because as soon as Bruce had come over, Tony looked over at him brightly and dismissed his work screens. 

“So,” he said. “India.”

Bruce shrugged, sitting down. “It’ll be nice to get back into that. Have actual contact with actual people who I could help out, in whatever small ways I can.”

“Ah, no, you’ve got Stark funding and medical tech at your disposal,” Tony interrupted, cheerful with it. “A whole team at your beck and call. I’d say that’s a ways better than some small help.” 

Bruce rubbed a little at the back of his neck. “Yeah, thanks for all of that.”

“Don’t even worry about it,” Tony said. He was sprawling back now, completely at ease. “You helping people is Stark Industries helping people which is great PR, let me tell you.”

“As if that was all you cared about,” Bruce said, shaking his head. 

“Oh, absolutely. Tony Stark, billionaire, philanthropist, soon-to-be-married former playboy…anyway.”

Bruce toyed with his glasses for a moment, pushing it back on his nose, before saying, “Ah, thanks too, by the way, about the blueberries. Or whatever it was. I don’t know what you did, but things have been feeling—I don’t know, better? Inside. Maybe a little less tense. It’s been nice.”

Tony looked at Bruce sideways. “Well, I figured the big guy could use a reward. Positive reinforcement or something.” 

“Yeah, well. Getting out of here—I’m hoping that in the next three weeks, there shouldn’t be any reason for the other guy to try to get loose, so. Things should be all right.”

“Hmm,” Tony said. 

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Well.”

“Or that.”

Tony sat up a little, which usually meant he was paying attention and thinking, and Bruce just hoped that this didn’t go anywhere uncomfortable. Again. “I’m just not understanding something here,” Tony admitted, “if you’ll hear me out. He’s the other guy when he’s out and smashing things, but it’s _your_ fault and you need to—I don’t know, shoulder the burdens of the world or something to make up for the damages.”

“I think it’s been clear that I could use a little psychological help,” Bruce remarked dryly. 

“Don’t we all,” Tony said flippantly. “But listen. You know, your other guy doesn’t talk much. And then the other day, it occurred to me: maybe if I asked him. Or maybe he wouldn’t answer, but supposing, what if he answered, and what would be weirder: if he said that he really was you, or if he said that he wasn’t? And would that change anything? Or should it? Because it’d be hard to tell if maybe you as consciously Bruce Banner should have some kind of input too on that. Or maybe not.”

Bruce looked at Tony wearily, warily. Trust Tony to try breaking your mind over these kinds of things. 

At last, he said, “And this is why I’m going to India for three weeks.”

Tony patted Bruce on the shoulder, like a magnanimous gesture. 

Then he looked at Bruce in a studious way. 

He said, “I feel like I should… ah, maybe apologize, so there’s my apology. I know this isn’t stuff you usually like to deal with, but after the blueberries…”

“Maybe I should take a crate of them with me to India too,” Bruce said. “Relaxation therapy via fruit.” 

“Maybe,” Tony said. “Huh, well just let me know if you really want that. Or anything else really. It’ll be free shipping and handling from Stark Industries…heck, actually the whole thing would be free of charge, so don’t feel like you need to hold back or anything.”

“I’ll, ah, I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Pepper! Love of my life—“

Coulson and Pepper were coming over now with drinks—one for Bruce too, and nothing for Tony, and while Tony pawed at Pepper to share, pretty please? Bruce sipped at his drink. He was, honestly, a little glad that they’d been interrupted. He just never knew what to say when it came to the other guy, and particularly when talking with Tony, who had a mind like a steel trap. 

He talked, instead, with Coulson, asking how the other man had liked that last episode of Extreme Chef. Apparently, they both shared a taste or two in guilty-pleasure television, and really, they ought to get together sometime for a few hours of indulgent television. Barton could come too. He never commented much on this kind of stuff, but it was kind of funny how focused he’d get, whatever you put in front of him, and how even if you poked him all he would do was give you the side-eye, and then shake you off like a bird.


End file.
